


Self Indulgence

by Bexinthecity247



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Drunk!Julia, F/M, this is pretty out of character so... sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bexinthecity247/pseuds/Bexinthecity247
Summary: Julia has unfortunately indulged in a little bit too much wine and poor David has to take care of her drunk self (and then her hung over self in part two)Sounds possibly crapper than it is... I don't know.





	1. Intoxication

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this seems pretty out of character - but I'm channelling my own drunken (and hangover) experiences here.

A crash brought David’s eyes flying open in the dead of night, following by the hallway light flickering on. He rubbed his face and pulled himself into a seated position, pulling the clock towards him. 3.37am. He looked behind him, but she still wasn’t in bed and so presumed that her night had been more fun than she had anticipated. He stood, pulling on a dressing gown to insulate him from the cool winter air, and exited their bedroom to be confronted by the sight of her, Julia Montague, standing barefooted in the kitchen looking intently at the kettle. He frowned. 

“Julia...?” he said, and she spun, wobbling, to face him. He reached out to steady her, and he could see her eyes were unfocused, almost pointing in different directions. Her breath smelt of alcohol. _Oh boy,_ he thought. “What are you doing?”

“Does it always take this long?” she said, pointing somewhere in the direction of the kettle. He looked around her, his grip on her arm not relinquished. 

“Sweetheart, you have to turn it on first...” he told her, and she frowned. 

“I did,” she said loudly. Far too loud for three in the morning.

“Shhhh!” he laughed, his hand trailing to rest around her waist. “I think it might be bedtime for you.”

“Oh, darling, it’s still early,” she pulled away and went to the fridge. 

He yawned as he watched her pulling out a bottle of wine. His eyes widened and he lurched forward, taking it from her and replacing it back in the fridge.

“Right, coffee,” he yawned, leaning over to flick the kettle on, proving that she had indeed, not turned it on. He watched her lean on the kitchen table, her head lolling in every direction. “So, err... good night was it?!”

“Hmmm?” she said, trying to lift her head up to look at him but her eyes couldn’t focus. “Stop moving.”

She pulled out the chair from behind the breakfast counter and almost fell onto it, catching herself on the counter. His face was a mix of amusement and concern as she held her head up, her elbow sliding off and her head almost hitting the marble. He turned briefly, away from her, to put the coffee in the cup, no milk.

He was back to facing her now with a raised eyebrow. “Love, how much have you had to drink?”

“Three... Some- four, five, wines or like, spir- I don’t. No, six wines,” she mumbled, and he leaned in, concern winning out. She shouldn’t be like this over a few glasses of wine. He touched his hand to her hair, brushing it off her face to look at her. She lifted her head and he looked at her eyes.

“Seriously, Julia, how much have you drunk?” his tone was no longer of amusement. 

“Six wines...” she said, her eyes moving past him. He moved to the kettle, pouring her a generous helping of black coffee and placing it in front of her. “Bottles.”

“Six bottles???” his voice rose, and she giggled with her finger over her lips.

“Shhhh!!! It’s really late...early!!” she said louder than he had, laughing and his shoulders relaxed.

“No wonder you’re pissed,” he said, mildly amused, coming to stand beside her so she didn’t fall backwards off the stool. “Drink up, ‘cos you really need to go to bed.”

“Bed? Are you trying to seduce me serg-serge- Budd...?” She was slurring so badly it took him a second to realise what she meant, his eyes screwing up as she spoke. 

“Bed, love. You know sleep?” he chuckled, running a hand up her back, resting near her neck. She swiveled to face him, her hand going to beneath his robe and trailing to his boxers, much to his surprise as he took her hand with an amused guffaw. “Noooo! Sleep!”

“Sposport,” she fumbled, and he kissed her knuckles lightly.

“Come on, love, bed!” he commanded, and she tutted as he pulled her towards him, his arm snaking around her waist. 

“Hmmm,” she stopped and pulled him towards her, pressing her mouth messily on his, her tongue darting into his. He indulged her for a minute, his hands tight on her waist before pulling away. “I love you,” she said breathily, moving in to take his lip between her teeth before releasing it.

“I love you too, but you are SO drunk,” he murmured near her mouth, a small grin spreading across his own. Her eyes sparkled, her pupils dilated from her proximity to him, and the alcohol flooding her veins. “Come on, halfway there.” 

He pushed open the bedroom door, pulling back the blankets on her side and sinking her down onto it. 

“Everything is spinning,” she groaned, putting a hand over her eyes and he touched her head.

“That’s because you drank six bottles of wine,” he teased and pushed her gently down. “Lie down.”

“No, no, that’s - ohhhh!” she moaned, and he pulled the covers over her before he walked back into the kitchen. 

He leaned over the sink, yawning as he poured her a glass of water and pulled the box of ibuprofen from the cupboard, bringing them both to where she lay groaning in the bed. He dropped the glass onto the bedside cabinet and left the box there.

“You’re going to need them in the morning,” he told her softly and she looked up at him, her eyes crossing wildly. 

He walked around his side of the bed and climbed back in, clicking the light off before he felt her shifting nearer to him, her arm winding across his chest and she was on her elbow, leaning to press her lips against his. He let out a little chuckle into her mouth as he caressed her cheek.

“You are really going to regret all this in about four hours,” he said in a mirthful whisper when she pulled away. 

She was scrabbling around, trying to straddle him but he held her thigh, stilling her.

“You need to go to sleep,” he told her gently, but she shook her head, immediately regretting it as the room spun wildly around her and she laid her head against his shoulder with a sickly moan. 

“Please make the room stop spinning,” she said, muffled by his skin. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her forehead.

“Oh love,” he said, trying to show sympathy.

She abruptly wrenched herself away from him, and was scrambling out of the bed, much to his confusion as he snapped the light on.

“Julia?!” 

“I’m going to be sick!” she cried from the bathroom and he sighed as he rolled out of the bed. 

_This was_ _gonna_ _be a long night,_ he thought as he followed her into the toilet to the soundtrack of her vomiting.


	2. The Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David helps Julia navigate her hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is HORRIBLY out of character so... sorry.
> 
> But thank you for all the kind reviews which I've been horribly remiss at replying individually to.

Six short hours later and David’s eyes crept open. It felt like they were made of broken glass and he lay for a minute before he rolled over, his arm reaching out for her, but she wasn’t there, and it was then that he heard her in the bathroom. He sighed, all too familiar with the effects of over indulgence and rolled out of bed in search of her. 

He pushed open the bathroom door and she was hunched over the bowl, her head resting on her outstretched arm. She was still wearing the dress that he had put her to bed in and he tilted his head to look at her.

"Good morning...again,” he said, rubbing a hand over his tired face. She tried to look at him but the light behind him stung her eyes and she moaned.

“Stop... moving...” she said around her nausea, and leaned into the toilet, letting out a dry self-pitying sob.

He turned away, leaving her, to the retrieve the glass of water he’d left by the bed side. It was empty and so he refilled it in the bathroom sink and put it down beside her, before kneeling down. 

“My head hurts,” she cried pitifully. Her head was still lolling to the side and he knew the effects hadn’t quite worn off yet.

“That’s because you drank six bottles of wine, love,” he said, teasing.

“I didn’t drink them all alone!” she said, abruptly lifting her head to look defensively at him. It was a mistake.

David’s hand went to her back, as she retched painfully with little left to bring up. He tucked her hair behind her ear and waited until she’d stopped gagging before handing her the water which she drank greedily. Her head flopped back on her arm and he trailed his hand up to rest by her neck as he took the glass from her. 

“I’m never drinking again,” she groaned, and he chuckled as he stroked her neck.

“The amount of times I’ve said that in my life,” he said, and she lifted her head tentatively to look at him mournfully.

“You’re enjoying this! Why did you let me go out?” she said weakly and he raised his eyebrows.

“Me? Love, I’ve tried telling you what to do before, it didn’t end well for me,” he reminded her, and she tried to frown. The movement was too painful, and she turned around into his open arms, her head tucking into his neck.

“Please make it stop.” she said meekly, and he stroked the hair from her face.

“I would if I could,” he murmured, looking sideways at her, half sympathetic and half amused. 

If she stayed still long enough, and closed her eyes, she could deal with the dull thud rattling through her skull and everything stopped spinning just enough for her not to feel like clawing her insides out. She rested her hand on his shirt collar, a comforting gesture that reminded her he was there, and his hand was warm on her waist. Her breath grew steady and just as she thought she might fall asleep, he said “come on, you need to get dressed and have something to eat.”

His voice split her head in two and let out a moan as he gently nudged her, and she lifted her heavy head off his shoulder. 

He left her in the bedroom to get changed, disappearing into the kitchen and when she appeared, he turned from the hob to regard her. She wore his shirt and a pair of black leggings he didn’t even know she owned. Her face was pale and her hair messy. She rubbed a hand over it, trying to tame it and he bit his lip at her attire. Despite the fact she felt like death, he thought she looked rather adorable. 

“Sit,” he said, nodding to the breakfast bar stool she almost fell off only hours prior.

“I’m sorry about last night... this morning...” she said, avoiding his glance as she dropped onto it with more grace than previously.

“It’s okay, we’ve all been there,” he said. He was definitely finding the whole thing far too amusing for her liking. He returned to his cooking and she closed her eyes, listening to the pounding of her blood in her eats, the sizzling of the food he was preparing. 

“I think I'm dying,” she murmured as she propped her aching head up with her hand. 

“Oh sweetheart, you’re not dying, I promise.”

He chuckled at the hob, plating up what she hoped wasn’t a fry-up. Her stomach lurched as he put an omelet in front of her and a cup of the blackest coffee she had ever seen. Her chest burned with affection for him but the thought of eating anything made her want to curl up. 

“I can’t-” she started to say.

“Trust me. I have been hanging many times in my life and this is a miracle cure,” he argued and handed her the fork. God, she loved this man.

She watched him retreat to the sink where he raised his own coffee cup to his mouth, before biting down on the mouthful of omelet. He was right, it did taste good to have something going down rather than coming back up.

“You’re not eating?” she asked, and he gulped down the coffee.

“Nope, someone’s got to do the chores and I don’t think it’s going to be you,” he smirked, and she went to roll her eyes, until a sharp pain shot though her head. “Plus, I’ve got to go out, Charlie left his bookbag here on Friday and Vick needs it, so I said I'd run it round.”

She flinched at the mention of his estranged wife, just raw enough from her experiences of the past twenty-four hours that all the emotions she usually kept buried about their unusual situation, simmered to the surface. 

“I won’t be long, you’ll be alright?” he said, dumping his cup in the sink and stopping at her side.

“Mhm,” she tried to smile but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. He leaned in and kissed the top of her head before sweeping past her and out of the flat. 

London was cold, and drizzly and David brushed the droplets from his hairs as he hung his damp coat up. 

“I’m back!” he called, waiting for a response but none came.

He walked into the living room, running a hand through his wet hair so it didn’t look like he’d been roughed up, but it stuck out in every direction regardless. He stopped when he saw her lying on the sofa, her legs drawn up in the faetal position, and her eyes were closed. He watched her for a minute with a small smile before passing into the kitchen. 

She hadn’t washed her plate up, so he doused it in water and scrubbed away, simply to have something to do whilst she slept and when he flicked the kettle on, she stirred behind him.

When he saw her looking back at him, he said, “feel any better?” 

She didn’t look better, her face still pale and she was shivering but she mustered a small smile.

“A little,” she rubbed a hand over her face as he padded over to the sofa. 

He carried two coffees to the table, swiping up the TV remote and flicked it on. She moved along so he could sit down, laying back down and letting her head sink into his lap. The TV was low enough that he could follow the documentary, but that she wouldn’t feel like there was an anvil crushing her head in two. Her eyes fluttered closed, soothed by his hand stroking her hair and for a moment she felt like she wasn’t going to die. 

Her mouth was drier than a desert when she opened her eyes and though it seemed she’d been asleep for hours, the same documentary still droned on about whales or the deep ocean. She pushed herself off his lap, rubbing her face. The drilling in her head had dulled to a whining ache and she yawned.

“Alright?” David said, looking at her.

“Mhm,” she said, stretching herself like a cat, a half dead cat, she mused as she rose for the first time in what felt like days and wandered into the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” 

He watched her go, his eyes following her form to and from the sink. 

“No, thanks.” 

She returned, stepping over his legs and sinking back into the seat, her legs folded up under her and it was a stance he didn’t witness often in her. He found that he quite liked it. She leaned into him, and his arm instinctively went around her.

“So, what exactly is this about?” she asked between gulps of water.

“Honestly? I have no idea. Something about the Coral Reef and saving the ocean I think...” he said.

She frowned and pulled back to look at him.

“You’ve been watching it for, what? Half an hour? And you’ve no idea what it’s about?” she said, mildly amused and he saw the sparks of the normal Julia in her eyes.

“Well... I fell asleep so...” he shrugged, and she felt a wince of guilt.

“When I said I was giving up drinking, I really meant it,” she said, taking a sip of the cool water. It made her stomach feel tight and she swallowed slowly.

He chuckled and they fell into a quiet solitude, one that ate away at her when his eyes drooped. She chewed on her lip 

“I’m sorry I've ruined your weekend,” she said after the silence was too great for the thoughts in her head.

He looked abruptly at her. 

“Julia, it’s fine, really. It’s a perfectly normal part of adulthood to get blind drunk and then have to deal with the shitty consequences the next day. Christ I’ve lost count of the times I've been lying on a sofa wishing I'd died,” he said with mirth and she looked away.

It wasn't normal for her; getting drunk and hungover had never been a part of her early life, and she felt stupidly embarrassed about it. Though she would never tell him that.

David Attenborough faded away and was replaced by something about penguins. She closed her eyes, concentrating only on the sound of his heartbeat close to her ear, the warmth of him pressed into her side, the soothing feel of his hand on her arm and she believed, hangover aside, this might be true happiness.

“I think I've only been hungover once in my life...” she heard herself say and she opened her eyes to his questioning glance.

“Once?” he said, unsure whether to be disappointed or amazed.

“Mhm... and I was so sick Roger wouldn’t let me sleep in our bed, so I had to sleep on the sofa and then he went out and fucked his secretary so...” she said, almost surprising herself. She had thought that memory long forgotten. She pulled away from him, suddenly irrationally annoyed.

He shook his head, the amusement dropping from his face.

“I’m not him,” he only said, and she smiled at him, taking his hand in hers, and relinquishing her glass to the coffee table.

“I know,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. He turned his head to kiss her forehead and she leaned into him, letting the moment linger. “Does David Attenborough have the corner market on animal documentaries or what?” 

“Apparently his voice is very soothing,” he laughed, then shrugged, looking from her to the TV.

“Hmm, well I prefer someone with a Scottish voice,” she said, with a hint of her normal flirtiness.

He chuckled as his resumed his chosen program on penguins and she felt the rumble of his through his chest, but the happiness was wiped almost immediately from her face when she felt the familiar tightness in her stomach, a sure sign everything that went down would be coming back up. She swallowed it down, tried to concentrate on the feel of his thumb drawing circles on her hand, the sound of penguins fucking on the TV, anything but the dense, lead-like feeling inside her.

“I’ll be right back,” she said quietly and pulled herself out of his embrace, almost running from the room.

He appeared around the bedroom door, following the sounds of her retching, and he looked down at her from the doorway.

“Oh, love,” he sighed. She’d been gone for twenty minutes and by the time the credits rolled, he had gone in search of her though he already had suspicions on what had dragged her out of his lap and into the bathroom. 

She didn’t seem able to stop, gasping for air around her gag reflex and he grabbed a flannel, dowsing it in cold water and bending down in a movement that painfully mirrored a position he’d been in more times than he could count this weekend. He pressed the flannel to her neck until she was dry-heaving and he rested it against her forehead. 

“I want to die,” he thought she said, and he stroked the flannel down her pale face. 

“I think maybe lay off the wine next time, hmm?” 


End file.
